Anathema
by CluelessKitten
Summary: Elson mussed her hair gently as he looked into her eyes. "Don't worry - no matter what happens, you'll always have me." (Genderbent AU) [ON HIATUS]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I do not own RotG or Frozen

 **Author's Note** : So, at first, I was only unsatisfied with the first chapter. Which then turned into rewriting the second and third chapters. Which turned into a reexamination of the plot as a whole. Some things have been changed (Pitch and Jack are not nearly so chummy as they were in the first version) but the core plot is basically the same.

I hope you enjoy reading this, despite the differences!

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 _Thud_!

Elson cracked open an eyelid, frowning slightly.

 _Thud_!

He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back on the throne.

 _Thud_!

 _BANG_!

The throne room doors were thrown open and in walked a gigantic snowman wearing a very disgruntled look on its face.

"I thought I told you not to do that anymore." Elson opened his eyes halfway, seeing Marshmallow – he still couldn't quite tell if the name was ironic or not, considering the dumpy snowman's physique – standing right in front of him. "What is it?"

The snowy behemoth grunted, gesturing to the closed doors leading out to the balcony. Elson's eyes drifted in the same direction. What-?

Oh. The blizzard – it _was_ oddly strong and he was sure it wasn't his doing. Still, they were already well into the winter months. Blizzards happened.

"I'm fine, Marshmallow," he said. "There's nothing wrong."

Somehow, the snowman managed an unconvinced expression.

…Alright, perhaps that was unnecessary; unintelligible though Marshmallow may be, he wasn't completely inept, either.

"Nothing is wrong," Elson repeated.

Marshmallow looked at the doors again, and Elson sighed slightly.

"It isn't my doing, I swear. Please, relax."

A low rumble emanated from Marshmallow as he turned to face the snow winter storm raging outside the sturdy walls of the icy castle.

"Come now, Marshmallow, I'm not always to blame when we have a bit of bad weather–"

 _Crash_!

They both froze, staring at each other in silence. A heartbeat passed. Two. And then Elson tore out of the room and down the hallway, his previous lethargy a distant memory as Marshmallow lumbered after him.

Were they being attacked?! Had the weather somehow messed with the wards he'd set up?

Elson turned a corner, ran up several flights of stairs, towards the sound of the crash and burst into an old room–

He came to a dead stop at the doorway. Inside, were sharp pieces of the broken ice roof scattered all around the floor. And in the middle of it was a figure clad in blue with a head of long, white hair. From under it, a pool of red blood was growing.

Elson swore beneath his breath as he surged forward, dropping to his knees in the middle of the mess, taking the figure, the person, the _girl_ into his arms. " _Hello_?! Can you hear me?" He swiped choppy white bangs – now stained a worrying pink – away from the girl's forehead. She was unbelievably cold, but still somehow breathing. " _Miss_?!"

White eyelashes fluttered for a few moments before closing again. She was completely out. And bleeding to death. On his floor.

Of course.

Did he even have a choice? He hoisted her up – surprised and slightly concerned by her lightness – speeding down the halls of the castle's western wing. Elson kicked the door to the nearest workroom open where he lay her down on a thankfully empty table. He took a small step back, observing her injuries, fully aware of Marshmallow hanging back by the doorway.

There was an ugly cut on the side of the girl's head and her clothes were torn up with fresh bloodstains. He couldn't see what exactly was wrong until he got a closer look but if the slightly shredded state of her hands and bare feet – he'd think about that later – was anything to go by, then her entrance through the ceiling had torn her up something horrible. However, most problematic were the shards of ice he could see sticking out of her.

Elson took in a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his hands, forcing his heart rate down. Now wasn't the time to panic. Now was _definitely_ not the time to panic.

He tore part of his cape off, bunching it up and pressing it to the girl's forehead. That should help some… The shallower scrapes and cuts on her hands and feet could wait a little, he hoped. But right now, he needed his attention on the ice shards in her arms. He conjured a pair of ice tweezers as he rolled his sleeves up. Should he wear gloves? Probably. He summoned a pair.

Elson bent over the girl, forcing himself to breathe deeply and calmly. After a moment's hesitation, he ripped one of the arms off her shirt's sleeves and forced the bile back down his throat as he took in her torn up arms.

"Marshmallow!" he called out. "I need you to get me a bucketful of water! Now!"

"What's going on in here?"

Elson whipped around, his eyes landing on a smaller snowman waddling into the room.

"Olaf," he said, "Help me with out with this."

Olaf sidled up next to Elson, his eyes wide. "Is she alright?"

"She won't be if we don't hurry. Get one of the trays in the cupboard – and rags if there are any."

Elson felt the edge of the tweezers, glad that his hand was steady. When he'd cleaned his hands with the melted snow Marshmallow returned with, Elson zeroed in on one of the larger shards and took in a deep breath. Very, very gently, he took hold of it and pulled–

Elson jerked back, letting go of the ice shard, as the girl's entire body convulsed. Her eyes flew open and a shrill scream rang in Elson's ears. Her eyes flashed wildly before locking onto him. She was moving too much, losing more blood–

" _Olaf, help me hold her down_!"

* * *

Elson slid down to the floor. His heavy breaths filled the air as his heart rate started climbing down to its normal pace. His hands were a sticky red, blood stained his clothes – and his hair, he was fairly sure, but he was trying not to think about that – and he had worked well into the sunrise, but it was done. The girl's breaths were deep, if a bit ragged. And if the medicine he'd coated on her injuries held up, then nothing should infect.

Slowly, Elson stood, forcing down the exhaustion as best he could. He dipped his hands into the bowl of water before realizing its deep strawberry hue.

It was a good thing he stomach was empty or he might have thrown up. As it was, he merely threw a glance at a snoring Marshmallow before shaking his head. No, Elson could fetch his own water – besides that, he strongly wanted a bath after this, too – and the fresh air would be good for him.

He cast his gaze on the room, resisting the powerful urge to run a bloody hand down his face.

While Elson had worked, dangerously sharp spikes had grown on the walls, and the girl's blood had frozen onto the table and floor already. He'd move her into a bedroom as soon as he could. But, oh, he needed to redress her, wouldn't he? During the surgery, he ended up not just tearing up the girl's shirt, but also ripping a large part of her trousers off. And while at the time, it hadn't seemed too important, thinking back on it now made Elson feel a little more ill.

This intruder … who was she? Why was she here? Should he have even helped her?

Elson shook his head, shuffling down the empty hallway. His questions could wait – right now, he just wanted her blood off him.

* * *

The girl was a spirit – Elson could tell that much. No matter how many blankets he swaddled her in, anything else would have died of the cold. But she was alive, breathing, with a steady heartbeat.

"She has white hair like you!" Olaf gasped. The first thing he'd done that morning was waddle into the room Elson had settled the girl into. He'd stayed there since then, as if watching over her life signs was his duty.

Maybe he felt like it was.

"My hair isn't snow white," Elson scoffed, folding his arms as he leaned back in his chair. "And who knows? Maybe that's her name."

"Her name's Snow," Olaf said with a touch of wonder only he could manage even after all these years.

Elson rolled his eyes. " _Maybe_. We'll find out when she wakes."

Until then, all they could do was wait.

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	2. Chapter 2

_Anathema – Chapter II_

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 _Please, don't hurt me!_

Jack was screaming, screaming, _screaming_ , fire burning through her veins, her heart pounding loud in her ears. She thrashed against the man holding her down, praying she'd wake and find all this just a nightmare.

Pitch's fault – more of his antagonizing – this was going _too far_ -!

Tears welled up in Jack's eyes when she saw the man thread a needle.

 _Why was he hurting her?_

Jack could hear herself weeping as she got too tired to struggle. She cried out each time she felt the needle and thread poking in and out of her skin. Seeing the tweezers again drew whimpers from her throat.

He reached downwards and there was the sound of ripping cloth.

Jack fainted.

* * *

"Shh," Elson soothed. He leaned over to the bed, trying to comfort the shaking girl. She was still asleep, dreaming … having nightmares.

She had a lot of those, he was noticing, and it bothered him. It pained him a little inside whenever he heard her cry out, pleading for help, mercy–

She looked so helpless.

"Don't cry," he whispered. Tentatively, he covered her hand in his. She was thin and cold and so, so frail-looking… He rubbed the back of her hand with one of his thumbs. "You're safe."

Elson gently wiped away the tears streaming down her face.

"You're safe."

* * *

Someone was singing. Soft. Deep. Steady. The voice floated around Jack, the words blurring beyond comprehension (and she didn't have the energy to try). But it was beautiful and it was a soothing balm to her pain, so what did it matter?

Her fears melted away and her heart swelled until it was fit to burst. Free of nightmares and surrounded by song, Jack felt a twinge of regret as she sank back into oblivion.

* * *

There were nights when loneliness gripped Elson in a vice, choking him, stealing his breath as cold fingers wrapped around his chest. There were nights when his screams rang off the walls and wind and snow howled and swirled outside the castle. He'd wake, drenched in cold sweat, with his fingers digging into the mattress, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. Sometimes, he'd wake and the nightmare would be over. But other times it lingered, haunting and taunting him of his failures and weakness. He'd throw himself out of bed, then, frenziedly making his way down to the workrooms and slaving over his latest research or experiment until his fingers numbed and his eyes teared up from the exhaustion.

That night, he woke with shrill screams still ringing in his ears, and he hadn't the presence of mind to quite tell whether they were echoes from the nightmare or from his own voice. He lay panting for a long while as if he'd run a marathon, the beat of his heart roaring loud in his ears. The images burned in his mind's eye and he covered his face with his hands as if doing so would dispel what he saw. When he could take no more, he rose from the bed, dressing himself haphazardly before practically fleeing from his own bedroom. His feet led him down the familiar corridors and it wasn't too long before he opened a door and found himself in the guestroom.

As always, the girl lay on her bed. She slept peacefully despite the turbulent weather and for that, at least, Elson was grateful. He sat in his chair, observing the youthfulness of her face and the calm way she breathed. She breathed easier now than she had before and her nightmares came less often. It was a good sign, one of progress that would hopefully continue over time.

With less hesitation than he'd had the first time, Elson carefully picked up her hand, cupping it in his. It was a small hand, a delicate one. Gently, he pressed two fingers to her wrist, feeling her steady pulse.

He closed his eyes.

Alive.

Alive.

 _Alive_.

Elson opened his eyes and wished she would, too. But the girl remained as she was and he immediately trampled the disappointment that welled within him. No matter. He had all the time in the world to wait.

He traced the veins on the back of her hand, then the creases in her palm. It became a repetition, his fingers idly following the lines of her hand – any line would do – as his thoughts wandered to idle things and the nightmares mercifully retreated back down to the depths of his mind.

When he woke that morning, still seated in the chair, it was to an aching back and a small crick in his neck. But his heart was at peace as he once more took on his job of watching over his unnamed charge.

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* * *

 **Author's Note:** In this fic, I'm trying to write both Elson and Jack as being a little bit broken by the things they've experienced, something that I felt didn't really carry over in the older drafts. I hope I didn't overdo it, though...


	3. Chapter 3

_Anathema – Chapter III (draft)_

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Were they related?

The thought struck Elson late one night as he tossed and turned in his bed. It was a stray idea, a treacherous one that stirred hope and invited disappointment – for it was disappointment that would surely come of such things. Even unspoken, the thought squeezed Elson's heart for just moment and he broke out in a light sweat.

Hysteric laughter lodged in his throat. Related? _Them_? Impossible! Was this really what he'd come to? Imagining connections between himself and a stranger just because they might be the same kind of person? His bloodline was gone! It had always been gone, ever since Anders–

Since he–

Elson pressed his hands into his face.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

His brother had died – and Elson himself had never had the chance to become a father.

There was no hope for it.

But still, the thought stayed, even just in the back of his mind. It made visiting the girl so much more difficult than it was and ever should be. He was betrayed – and not just by his mind. He craved proximity to the girl, he knew. Hungered for the touch of her cool hand, to feel the steady pulse inside her wrist.

He was frightened.

 _He was addicted_.

If only the girl was awake, he would throw her out this very instant, for both their sakes. It would be safer for both of them, he was sure, if he could get her far, far away from him now while he could still bear letting her go. But she wasn't awake – she was, in fact, the very opposite of that – and so, he let her stay. Let her sleep in the guest bedroom like she wasn't driving him mad just by being on the same mountain.

More and more, Elson entertained a morbid thought. What if she never woke up at all? What if she stayed in his palace forever, asleep?

It was more appealing than it should have been.

.

As a prince, Elson had had the opportunity to study vast number of subjects. Music had been one of them – though, he always did favor mathematics more – and in his youth, he'd learned how to play the fiddle. It was an instrument of precision and even then, Elson had strived for that however he could. Precision. Control. They'd been vital to him.

But now, he lived in an ice castle. He had long ago worn away the strings of his violin to their breaking point, though he still had the instrument's body and bow in storage. His voice became his only instrument and over the lonely years, he'd honed it, perfected his pitches and diction. Still, art being what it was, there was never any real point when he could fool himself and say, 'I have done all I can. I have reached the end of the road and will soon start another.' No, singing was art and art was never finished. There was always something more he could do better, some tone or word that he could improve. It was a good thing – in the quieter days when the hollowness in his chest gnawed at him more painfully, he filled the air for hours with nothing but song. And as he strived for better technicality, his mind would wander off the more painful things and ease.

Singing was his refuge.

Elson was singing when the girl woke.

It was almost anticlimactic, really, and it actually took a few seconds for what had happened to actually register. His mouth had stayed open, though the lyrics had quickly died on his lips when he'd noticed the two incredibly blue eyes watching him. Listening.

A thrill ran up his spine and his nerves rubbed together excitedly.

"Good morning," he said.

For a long while, the girl simply stared at him. But finally: "You … can see me?"

There was such a sad hope in the girl's eyes, pleading for him to say yes, _please_ say yes, that he immediately nodded.

"How…" she rasped, "What–?"

"You crashed through my roof," Elson said casually, but really, how was anyone expected to say something like that? "I've been taking care of you ever since."

"How long?"

Elson gave a slight shrug, although the days were engraved in his mind. "A few weeks."

A curious expression flashed on her face. "You … changed my clothes?"

And here, there was a hint of disbelief – maybe even suspicion – that Elson bristled at. "They were torn already – the fall wasn't a pretty one, if you've noticed, this entire place is made of ice – and ragged and I needed to stitch up your injuries."

"Oh." She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath.

Elson almost stood from his chair; was she falling asleep again so soon? "Are you in much pain, still? Can you tell me your name?"

"I'm Jack … Jack Frost."

"Jack Frost," he repeated, tasting the name. It was a strange thing to call a girl… "A pleasure to meet you. I am Elson."

Her eyes stayed closed. "Just Elson?"

"Well… yes."

She became silent then. But just as Elson thought that she was sleeping, she said, "Do you mind getting me a drink of water? My throat's parched."

A nervous chuckle escaped him before he could help himself. "I'm not surprised. And no, I don't mind."

"Thanks."

For a first conversation, Elson thought as he melted snow, it wasn't too bad. Certainly not as bad as it _could_ have been. He was rather pleased. This might just work out.

He didn't really know what he'd do if it didn't.

Elson helped Jack drink from the glass, his larger hands wrapping over her trembling ones. He lifted the water to her lips and he watched as she drank. He felt warm, he felt … near her.

"You're cold," he said after setting the glass down on the bedside table. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead.

"You're hot."

"Am I?" he murmured absently as he readjusted one of Jack's pillows.

"You are. Are all people like that?"

Elson sat back on his chair, considering the question. "All _people_ , yes. But as for spirits, I suppose it all just depends."

"On what?"

"On the spirit."

"Oh."

"Jack, I have to ask you something – why did you fall through my roof? It was very dangerous; I do have a front door, just so you know." She could have easily bled to death on his floor that day.

"I…" She paused, frowning. "I'd heard that there was another winter spirit around this area and I wanted to see … well, I wanted to visit…" Jack trailed off then, her ice-blue eyes shyly meeting Elson's for a moment before flitting away to some space on the wall across her.

Someone had told Jack about him and she'd still decided to try and meet him? "What did they say about me?" he asked carefully.

"Just that a hermit with ice powers lived here."

"Ah." So that was how they viewed him nowadays, was it? "And who exactly told you this?"

Jack bowed her head and some hair fell onto her face. From behind the white strands, she peered at him like a child. "Pitch Black," she said in a small voice.

Elson's hackles rose at the mere mention of the name. "The Nightmare King?"

"Is there any other?"

"What is your relation to him?"

"Nothing," she said, surprised. "We just run across each other from time to time and this time around, he mentioned you."

Elson's eyes narrowed slightly. "I see."

"Is there a problem?" Jack asked, a bit timidly, and Elson sat up straighter, feeling somewhat chastened.

"No, it's just … Pitch and I don't really … well, we don't particularly get along." Elson hesitated before adding, "We're enemies."

Jack stared at him, her mouth opened in an unspoken 'oh'. A distinctly uncomfortable feeling washed over Elson as the seconds ticked past them; he had no idea where he really stood with Jack – they were still only strangers to one another – and for all he knew, his last comment might have alienated her in some way.

' _We run across each other from time to time_ …'

Quieter, he said, "I wouldn't hold it against you if you were … friends with him."

Jack thought about that. Then: "I like to think that we're friends."

"Aren't you?"

She shrugged carelessly before wincing at the movement. Ah. So, she still did feel pain…

"Your bandages need to be changed later," Elson said. "I can rub a salve into your wounds. It won't take all the pain away, but it will help some."

"Thanks, that's … that's very nice of you." Jack's hand raked through her messy, white hair as she spoke laughingly.

Elson's hand lifted but then stopped. Inwardly, he grimaced as he forced himself not to reach out to her. The spell was broken; he was no longer a prince watching over a sleeping beauty. Now, they were strangers and he had no idea what she would think or do if he touched her at all now.

He smiled at her, settling himself in his chair and viciously beating back the cold, deadened feeling that was creeping over him.

"It would be my pleasure."

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* * *

 **Author's Note** : The title to this fanfic might change soon. 'Anathema' doesn't really seem to fit it so well anymore...


	4. Chapter 4

_Anathema – Chapter IV_

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"They hatch in teeny, tiny eggs in droves - all together!"

Elson entered the guest room awkwardly, a bundle of assorted cloths in his arms. On the bed, Olaf and Jack were engaged in a conversation about salmon with an enthusiasm that wasn't usually associated with conversations about fish.

"And then I read they swim _upriver_!" Olaf gushed, swinging his little snow legs against the side of the mattress. "Can you believe that, Snow?"

"Um … yes?"

Jack caught Elson's eye, a silent plea in those icy blue orbs, and he cut in with a chuckle. "Jack, it's time to change your bandages."

"Those are bandages?" she asked, looking pointedly at the cloths.

"Well, no," he admitted as he set the items down on the dresser. "They're not _just_ bandages. Since you're awake, I thought that you might like to change out of that shift. It's getting a bit old, see, and I'd rather have you in something fresh – it helps against infection."

As Elson was noticing with Jack, the offer left her at a bit at a loss for words. Finally, Olaf nudged her, making her start a bit, and he said, "He made you clothes!...But it's okay, Snow, you don't have to wear them." In a mock whisper that Elson heard very well, the snowman added, "His heart's in the right place, but his fashion sense is _pphbt_!"

Elson rolled his eyes while a small, unsteady laugh escaped Jack. So softly he might not have heard it, she whispered, "T-thanks."

There was a blush in her cheeks that made a lovely contrast from the usual paleness of Jack's skin. Immediately, Elson was reminded that _he_ had been the one to change her into the shift in the first place, and he soon felt the blood uncontrollably rushing up to his cheeks as well. He hid a cough behind his hand and looked away.

"We'll change your bandages first," he said, his eyes firmly on a random spot on the wall. "Then, we'll see if you're strong enough to dress yourself. If not–" he gave a slight shrug "–then we can postpone it until you are." In any case, the salves _should_ be more than enough to fight away any bacteria.

It was ridiculous, really – he was willing to risk _infection_ just so as not to embarrass either of them. In a purely medical sense, it was absurd, but…

Elson glanced at Jack. Young, innocent-looking Jack who was nervously twisting the covers.

Ah, no, he could never do that to her. Not unless it was an emergency, like it was back then. It would hardly have done, after all, to clean her wounds and bandage her up but leave her in filthy rags. It didn't make sense.

Nothing made sense.

Carefully, Elson helped Jack sit up on the edge of the bed. He sat in the usual chair, dragged closer than usual, and began unwrapping the bindings on one arm. He frowned at it, gently brushing his fingertips along some of his stitches. They were fairly small and neat, considering the state he'd been in while making them, but the cuts would still scar.

It was a shame.

He worked quickly, always ensuring that the salves were spread well over the wounds before he redressed the limb. Jack, for the most part, bore the entire process with quiet patience. She winced here and there and seemed a bit timid about the physical contact but otherwise made no particular reaction.

Her skin was cool.

"Am I hurting you?" he had asked when a small whimper escaped her while he attended to her leg.

"Not badly."

"On a rate of one to ten, how bad is it?"

She paused. "Four."

Elson frowned; it was below five, which was good, but the number was still higher than he would have liked. Still… it hadn't been so long since the incident itself, when he thought about it. She was still healing.

Olaf had made his cheerful exit sometime while Elson finished attending to Jack's other arm and Elson found himself a little thankful for the silence. He always worked better in the quiet than when someone was babbling in his ear. Not that he disliked Olaf's chatter – there was a time and place for that sort of thing. This wasn't one of them.

"Thanks."

Elson glanced up but said nothing. Currently, he was finishing checking Jack's stomach area, which was awkward enough without awkward words.

"For stitching me up," Jack continued despite the strangling silence. "I mean, you didn't have to – most people wouldn't have, you know. Bothered, I mean. They wouldn't have bothered."

"Why not?" He couldn't claim he knew much about Jack but she didn't seem unpleasant.

"W-well, no one really likes winter."

Elson stopped. He looked up at her, his expression odd. His eyes, in particular, were unusually bright.

Ah. So his legacy lived on.

Or maybe it was just a natural prejudice.

Both were possible.

"Well, then," he said with a reassuring pat on her hand. "I guess we winter spirits have to look after each other."

"Yeah," she murmured, her eyes on her hand. "I guess."

Later, he found himself staring stupidly at the door while Jack made strange noises behind him. At her insistence, she was changing into the dress and undergarments that Elson had made for her – and apparently having trouble with it. Did women usually take this long and use so much effort dressing up?

"You said it would stave off infection," she had reminded him when he'd looked at her doubtfully. "It'll be safer this way, then."

And like a fool, he'd agreed.

Really, Elson was being far too soft with the girl. It was just … so hard to say no to her.

And so, they'd come to an agreement: Elson would keep his eyes away but he would stay inside the room if Jack found that she couldn't go through with the entire process.

He didn't hold in his bored sigh.

"Alright, alright, I'm done!"

Elson turned around and his eyebrows jumped up his forehead.

The shirt fit Jack well enough, though she'd put it on a bit lopsidedly. The skirt covered her stocking-clad legs – a sentimental attempt on having her dressed for the winter weather, he knew. Her messy white hair had grown even messier during the ordeal, giving the girl an overall ruffled look.

"Wonderful," Elson said appreciatively while Jack combed her hair with her fingers.

"Why do I need a skirt when I have stockings?"

"Hmm? Oh, um, well… It keeps you warmer, I suppose."

"Oh."

His answer hadn't satisfied Jack in the least, he could see as much, but really couldn't find a better reason than his own sentimentality. It was a strange thing in the moments when it struck him. "Where I grew up, women used to wear them during the winter. I suppose I thought you might like them."

" _Oh_."

Was that … a good 'oh' or a bad one…?

Then: "Thanks."

Elson smiled.

.

Jack was overwhelmed.

She was alone. She was used to being alone and she told herself and half-believed that she _preferred_ being alone.

Now – touches and conversation and eye contact and oh-so-many things that she couldn't quite process right at the moment. They were all so strange and wonderful and nerve-wracking that she oftentimes couldn't find her voice. She managed conversation somehow, barely, but…

She pulled the covers up to her chin, peering out at the unfamiliar room. Elson had left some minutes ago for some reason or other – she'd been too spaced-out to understand at the time – and she was, for now, again, alone.

Never before had Jack ever dreamed of imagining a home made entirely from ice. She'd made the occasional igloo for herself, but other than that, had never really felt the urge to set down roots in any single place. But this … this didn't seem too bad. Maybe, when she was better and she had the energy, she could make something of own. Not a castle, certainly – she didn't have companions like Elson did – and she certainly wouldn't stay there all year round, but maybe a cottage would be nice. In any case, it should be plenty better than an igloo.

Now that she thought of it, where was–

Jack gasped. She threw the duvet off her and, against her nonexistent better judgment, practically leapt from the bed.

For one moment, for one glorious moment in time, she stood on the icy floor. But then reality kicked in – kicked _her_ – and she fell to the ground with a sharp cry. Fire shot up her legs, pain exploded in the arm she'd fallen on. Tears stung her eyes as she huddled up into a pathetic little ball, too afraid, too pained, too hysterical to even think of moving again.

That was how Elson found her – curled up on the floor, shaking, sobbing.

He panicked. Picked her up, set her atop the bed. He was shouting, but Jack only covered her ears and sobbed harder, just wanted everything gone, gone, gone, gone, _gone_. She rocked herself on the mattress; it was only when her voice grew sore that she realized she was screaming.

 _My staff! My staff! Where is it? My staff!_

Elson fled the room and then the tears wouldn't stop flowing. Alone, she rocked herself back and forth, her back hitting the headboard, trying to reign in her voice but finding out with a familiar terror that she was no longer master over herself.

But then, he came back. In his hand, Elson held Jack's shepherd's staff.

Jack surged forward on the bed but stopped herself from actually leaving it. She snatched the staff from him and hugged it tightly. Magic – _her_ magic – crackled out of it, reaching out to her like an old friend. It soothed her. Calmed her.

Eventually, her tears dwindled and her voice died down. The pain still echoed through her body and she held the staff all the more tightly for it.

Jack looked up. In front of her, Elson stood with a terrified, lost expression. He stared down at her like he would a frightened, wild animal. She felt like one.

Almost mechanically, he walked to the dresser, yanked a drawer open, and pulled out a plain, folded cloth. He made his way back towards Jack and sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her close to him, ignoring her flinch when he touched her. Gently, carefully, he began wiping away the mess of tears, snot and drool.

Shame flushed Jack's cheeks. She felt like a child. Felt helpless, felt weak, felt hurt, felt _angry_. She tried to push him away but Elson was having none of it. Firmly, he kept her close to him and continued cleaning her up.

"Stop it," she whispered. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

Elson lifted her face.

"You are not," he said quietly in a stiff, measured voice, "Pulling your stitches open. You are not walking until your legs are fully healed. You are never going to do something like this again."

Unshed tears burned Jack's eyes and choked her but Elson only wiped them away again.

"If you need something out of reach, you will wait for me or someone else to come into the room." He wrapped her into a warm embrace that made Jack's heartbeat stutter and stumble over itself. She pressed her face into his shoulder, sniffling. In a softer voice, he murmured, "Never do this again."

Jack clung to his shirt and tried to breathe.

.

His hands were shaking.

Elson held Jack in his arms, rocking with her, feeling each sob, every irregular heartbeat. They were an odd pile of limbs and the position became particularly awkward when one considered how she was also hugging the staff to herself.

The staff – it had been with Jack when she'd fallen through the roof. Well, more specifically, it had been left _on_ the roof while Jack had fallen through it. Luckily, he'd had the foresight not to throw the thing away when he'd found it during the repairs or he had no idea how today's crisis would have ended.

And yes, it was 'today's crisis'. There was no doubt in Elson's still somewhat jarred state of mind that despite Jack's initially quiet, if timid, impression, the girl had some … issues.

When her sobs lessened and her breathing evened, he drew back – just enough to get a good look at her.

Jack looked… rather pitiful. Despite his best efforts, tears still stained her face; her eyes were red and her face had taken up a splotchy pink hue that was probably Jack's equivalent of redness. Her hair was disheveled and very honestly, needed a trim – or cut. Probably a cut.

"Does this happen often?"

She only looked sniffled.

"Does this happen to you often?" Elson said again.

"No," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse but he couldn't really say he was surprised about that.

Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers through her hair. She was lying - she was also apparently bad at doing so - and he wasn't sure just how to broach that fact. He had no idea which words would help or tear down - he didn't even know whether or not holding her like this was appropriate procedure. But who else was there besides him? Who else was there to even try?

Mustering all his determination and sternness, he said, "Jack."

One word. But thankfully, it was enough.

Jack pressed her face into his shoulder harder and her grip on his shirt tightened so much it might rip.

Would she cry again? From just one word? A bit frantically, Elson rubbed the girl's back in what he hoped was a soothing fashion. He wasn't good with tears. He was so very not good with tears.

"It happens," she said with a small hiccup. "And I hate it but it happens and I can't do anything when it does and – _oh, please don't make me leave_!"

Elson froze.

Afraid. She was afraid. Of _him_. And not in the way that others usually were, but instead…

He couldn't deny that there wasn't some part of himself inside that wasn't quietly preening at the thought that she wanted to stay.

Elson hushed her gently, rocking her back and forth once more like he would a child. As if he'd ever throw her out. He whispered reassurances in her ear and hummed nonsensical little melodies. Eventually, her grip on him and the staff loosened and he managed to take it from her grasp and lean it against the wall without letting go of Jack. She was asleep now, curled up in his arms, practically in his lap. Her breaths, while not yet deep, were even.

"Silly girl," he murmured with idle affection, his chin resting on her head.

Elson felt drained. It had been an exciting day – Jack waking up, falling into hysterics…

He shook his head slightly as he began working out how to settle her under the covers without waking her. Reluctantly, Elson finally lay her down on the bed. He drew the covers up Jack halfway, wondering if there was even a point in doing so – she obviously didn't notice the cold. Still … for the sake of his own sentimentality, he tucked her in. He looked on her for a moment, the corners of his lips threatening to curl into a smile before he turned and left.

He knew he had some psychology texts hidden away somewhere…

.

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* * *

 **Author's Note** : Yep, that was just the first day. And what a day it was! Finally posting a fourth chapter for this fic is so exciting it's almost ridiculous. I hope you enjoyed it!


	5. Chapter 5

_Anathema - Chapter V_

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"No one knows if he lives there, still," Pitch said softly that night on the cliff overlooking a little village. The starry night sky glittered above them, a sea of distant lights. "None dare see for themselves, for the Winter King was a fearsome spirit."

"Do you think he might have been lonely?" Jack asked, hugging her shepherd's staff.

"I'm sure he was, Jacqueline … quite sure."

Jack gripped her staff tightly, confusion worrying at the pit of her stomach. "But if there's a Winter King already, then why am _I_ here?"

"Perhaps he has died," Pitch said with an utter flippancy that stirred panic in his little companion's heart.

"Spirits can die?"

"Well, of course. Not as easily as the mortals, mind you, but we _can_ die. Or," he added thoughtfully, "be obliterated."

It wasn't very helpful. "And when – _if_ – we die, we'll just get replaced?"

"Don't look so horrified now, little one. What else can the Man in the Moon do if not replace his fallen soldiers with new ones?"

He had a point.

But then again, Pitch also hated the Man in the Moon. That had to count for something.

"Well … well, _I_ don't think he's dead."

"Perhaps. Perhaps, you will even find him – alive and well and still as unfortunate as he was in the tale."

"And then, maybe _we_ could be friends."

There was a stiff pause.

"Perhaps." Pitch's tense took her aback but when she turned around, he was gone.

.

Jack never meant to seek the Winter King out.

It had been a bad week, a bad month, a bad _year_ spent alone with only the voiceless Wind for company. Every renewed attempt at being seen ended up in miserable failure and there were only so many days Jack could go without talking to herself. It was a strain, always, as if the words piled up inside her until they rushed out of her mouth in an almost nonsensical string of words that, if you squinted at them, _could_ form a coherent idea.

Funny, how the words evaporated into the air whenever she tried talking to Elson now.

He was a generous person, more so than anyone else she'd ever met before – not that that was saying much, but it was still nice.

"Let me understand this… jolly old North, giver of gifts to all the little children in the world, threw you out of his workshop and that's why you were flying over the mountain?" Elson … wasn't readable. Actually, his expression was carefully blank and Jack couldn't understand it.

Picking at the duvet, she said, "Yes." She hesitated before adding, "I sneak into his workshop sometimes – or, I try, anyway – but his yetis are good. I've never been able to get past them yet."

Jack fidgeted under Elson's steady gaze. "Does the old wizard even know you're there in the first place?"

"I don't–"

…Wait.

" _North_ was a _wizard_?"

Reaching out, Elson closed Jack's gaping mouth with a muted click, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, before he was a spirit, that was what he was. A pirate wizard – it's quite amusing when you think about it."

It was, and she wondered why Pitch never bothered telling her about that. It seemed like a story the Nightmare King would enjoy, rehashing the darker moments of a Guardian's life. North – a pirate! Well, from what she knew, he was a big man, if old, so it was certainly possible, but still! North!

Jack giggled behind her hand – until Elson took her wrist and pulled down. She glanced at him questioningly but didn't shy from the gentle hold. Touching someone else … it was nice. She doubted she would ever get enough of it.

"Why do you hide your smile behind your hands?"

"I–I don't…" But she did, she realized – very often, if not every time. Jack shrugged helplessly. "Habit, I guess."

"It's better if you don't."

She could feel her cheeks flush. "Oh."

Elson released her wrist and leaned back on his chair. The shadows flitted away from his eyes as he smiled gently, saying, "And what about you, Jack? What's your story?"

Worry fluttered in her stomach. "You mean … before _I_ was a spirit?"

He inclined his head as he laced his fingers together. Waiting.

"Oh, I – well, it's not really interesting." She cast her gaze around like the ceiling or the walls might give her a clue, but no idea came. "You see, it's – well–"

Growing concerned, Elson said, "It's perfectly alright if you'd rather not–"

"I don't know."

A beat.

Then:

"You don't know if you want to talk about it?" Elson asked cautiously.

"No … _no_! I…" Jack took in a deep breath. "I mean, I don't … remember anything – about myself."

Jack wanted to hide in a hole, deep in the snowy ground and never come out. Elson was very, very quiet. His eyebrows had risen and his entire body gone still at the information. When he looked at her again, she bowed her head and let her hair hide her face.

"Why don't you remember?" he finally asked.

"I don't know. The Man in the Moon never told me. Neither did anyone else."

"But – your name..."

"It's the only thing he's ever bothered telling me."

"So there's nothing … nothing at all?"

Jack thought back. "There was a lake."

"Perhaps you lived by it."

"No." She shook her head. "It's not like that. I mean, I woke up _in_ a lake. The Man in the Moon lifted me out of the ice."

* * *

Elson stared at Jack. Surely, she didn't mean…?

 _The Man in the Moon lifted me out of the ice_.

Surely not!

And yet…

"Elson, you've gone pale!"

He shook himself out of his thoughts, looking over at Jack – at her worried blue eyes peeking out from the white strands, her cold, sickly white skin, the way her ribs had a tendency to stick out of her little chest like a baby bird…

Though he'd never minded it before, Elson nearly flinched at the chilly bite of her skin as she took his hands into hers. He met her gaze as he tried not to let the deep pity – because, he realized with a jolt, that that was what it was – as he looked at her.

"What's wrong? Is it something I said?"

"I … no," he said, his mouth dry. "No, Jack, you've done nothing wrong."

"Oh," she murmured, relaxing for just a second before determination flashed in her eyes and her grip on his hands firmed. Her child's face no longer hid behind the locks of her hair. "But there _is_ something wrong – isn't there?"

Elson blinked, feeling a bit taken aback at the progression. "Yes."

"Can you tell me?"

He hesitated. Voicing his thoughts on the matter – would it help? How would he even go about saying it? 'Jack, you are the trapped spirit of a child.' That … didn't seem like a conversation that would lead anywhere good. "Not now," he conceded.

"But–"

Elson slid his hands out of her palms and made her look him in the eye. "It's nothing to worry about."

Jack bit her lip. Reluctantly, she nodded and he settled back into his chair.

"Jack," he said, reaching out to carefully tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. "You need never panic here. I will keep you safe and … I only wanted to know more about you. But if you'd much rather not speak of something then we will not."

"I want to know more about me, too."

And she said it so plaintively that Elson's heart went out to her. To the endless wondering, to the questions that might never be answered.

"I know, Jack," he said quietly, wishing for all the world that he was the amnesiac of the two of them. Heaven knew there were things he never wanted to remember again. "I know."

.

Staring up at his bedroom ceiling that night, Elson felt old and ragged. He had, under his roof, an amnesiac, seemingly anorexic – not a confirmed diagnosis, but by Jove, her wrist was small! – child with a slight case of hysteria who had been left to her own devices for far too long.

Honestly, he was surprised she wasn't worse than this; most seasonal ghosts were at least somewhat vengeful. River ghosts drowned the unlucky passerby – usually male – and forest sprites led inexperienced hikers to their doom. Sirens were a sailor's bane in life. There were winter ghosts, too, he knew – ones that had some semblance of control over the cold, though none had ever matched up to him as of yet.

Was Jack a spirit or a ghost? Elson was loath to accept the latter option; he could hardly imagine Jack luring someone to their death. Also, she'd traveled quite some distance in her years and ghosts were usually confined to certain places. And ghosts could make themselves visible if they liked – Jack could not. So she had to be a spirit.

But why couldn't she remember anything from her past? What was the point of it?

And yet, if Elson was being honest with himself, in his heart of hearts, he knew the reason why. Difficult as her life might have been, he had no doubt that it would have been reduced to an unending torture if she'd kept her memories. She would have gone mad, watching her family move on with their lives, growing older and older and older with the passing seasons until they inevitably went on to the place where she could not follow.

Making Jack forget was … infinitely thoughtful of the Man in the Moon.

But that didn't make her happy about it, and likewise, it didn't mean that _he_ was happy about it.

How could Elson explain this to Jack? How would he even start? But maybe he didn't need to tell her quite so soon; the latter conclusion he'd made – and the first one didn't even deserve mentioning – was, after all, only a theory with no concrete evidence to back it up. For all he knew, the Man in the Moon was a fickle creature and there was no reason at all for Jack's amnesia. Maybe it something that happened whenever a corpse was turned into a spirit. There just wasn't any proof whether he was right.

Elson sighed, turning on his side. He tossed and he turned, stubbornly shutting his eyes whenever they opened.

He couldn't stop thinking about Jack. Couldn't stop imagining her sleeping in a tree or on the ground. Couldn't banish from his mind's eye, the sight of Jack in ragged clothes. He saw her, travelling around the world, dirty, alone and unseen. It made him restless, until finally, he slipped out of the bed and made his way back to the guest room.

After all the unpleasant images his imagination had given him, seeing Jack peacefully asleep on the bed soothed Elson. The moonbeams – weakened, reflected and refracted by the palace's ice walls – were caught in her hair, making them gleam in the meager light.

A ghost, indeed.

Elson shook his head at himself as he walked to her bedside. Unable to keep his distance, he sat on the edge of the bed, quietly watching her. His nerves were already beginning to calm and, delicately, as if he were handling the finest of glass, he picked up her cool hand and held it. It was small and bony, and he frowned at it. Jack really needed some meat on her bones, but … he didn't even have the means to do that. Even if he refashioned one of the castle's many unused rooms into a kitchen, he would still be left with the problem of the food's source.

He couldn't even provide something as simple as food. Not that Jack would actually need it to live, but … seeing her malnourished felt so _wrong_ – and it _hurt_ that he couldn't provide something so basic to human life.

"What am I going to do with you?" Elson whispered, stroking her cheek. It had been so long since he'd last worried so much over anything. But it felt good. Having someone to worry for … it was nice.

"Els'n?"

His breath hitched and he stilled.

"What're you doin' 'ere?"

Carefully, he put her hand down and withdrew. "Nothing, Jack. Go back to sleep."

"Is s'mthing wrong?"

"No, I'm sorry I woke you."

Little fingers caught his shirt just as he stood up.

"Jack?"

"Don't leave me."

It was a childish request made in the most pleading voice that possibly ever existed and Elson found himself torn between gently prying her fingers off or sitting back down. "Is something wrong, Jack?"

"No … yes. Will you stay?"

"I…" He paused, weighing his options. "Yes. I will." Somehow, he doubted he could sleep anyway, knowing he'd left her just like that. "But it's late and you must sleep."

"You're the one who woke me up."

True, true…

Elson sat down again, trying arrange himself comfortably without becoming inappropriately close to Jack.

"Ouch – you're sitting on my hair."

"My apologies."

Eventually, they did end up very close, with Elson's arm around Jack as she lay against him. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed and he tried to stay as still as possible, as if any sudden movement might break the odd, dreamlike quality of the night.

He would slip back into his own bed once she was asleep. It would be difficult, positioned as they were now, but surely he could manage something like that.

Surely…

Elson would swear for weeks to come that all he did was blink when suddenly, the late morning was upon them and he found himself looking up at Olaf's goofy smile.

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* * *

 **Author's Note** : I read somewhere on Jack's wikia page that, in the books, Jack is actually fourteen but able to change his age. I decided to incorporate that into the story. So, no, Elson actually isn't being a patronizing prick when he refers to her as a child.

Many apologies for any mistakes that might have slipped through the editing process.

I got 16 reviews! Thank you so much, you guys!


	6. Chapter 6

_Anathema – Chapter Six_

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Jack swung her legs over the side of the bed, her heart beating painfully against her ribs. Was trying this again really a good idea?

"It's alright, I'm here."

She looked up at Elson, trying to gather some comfort at the sight of him standing over her even as she gripped the edge of the mattress tightly. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as memories of the last time she'd tried to stand rushed to the forefront of her mind.

She swallowed. "Are you really sure I can do this?"

Elson met her gaze readily. "Yes."

Jack closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, and in a single motion, heaved herself off the bed. She stood shakily on the icy floor, swaying dangerously from side to side. Elson took hold of her forearms, helping her balance.

"Careful, now," he murmured, stepping back slightly. "We don't want another accident."

He was tall, she realized all of a sudden. Really, really tall and Jack couldn't help but wonder just how old Elson was. She suddenly felt tiny, standing in front of him while he bended down to keep her steady.

"My legs feel shaky."

"That's unsurprising. You haven't used them in weeks. It will take time for them to grow strong again."

Slowly, Elson loosened his grip and Jack shuffled forward. She held her hands close to herself, already missing the touch of her shepherd's staff. She had asked earlier whether she could use it as a crutch but Elson wanted to see how well she could walk on her own.

"Small steps," he said, holding his arms out to catch her just in case. "Like that – yes, we're almost at the door."

"I can see that," Jack huffed. Her legs still ached slightly but it wasn't enough to deter her.

Elson's eyebrows knitted together as he watched her. He always noticed things about Jack that she missed and she couldn't help but look up at him worriedly.

"Is something wrong?"

"No – no." He shook himself slightly and smiled at her. "I just don't think it's a good idea to try the stairs just yet."

Jack paled. He'd been thinking of trying to give her _stairs_? "I don't think I can, either." Not for another week or two, at least.

"Hmm…" Elson tilted his head, considering. "Would you like to return to the bed now?"

"I've rested a lot already. I can walk some more."

He frowned slightly. "I don't want you to strain yourself."

"I'm not," she promised. "Walking would be good for me, right? I'll never grow stronger if I just lie in bed."

"Yes…"

Still hovering over her, Elson followed Jack out of the bedroom. They walked slowly, silent except for Elson's occasional questions. He was a private person, Jack had noted, and light chatter didn't always come so easily to him. Granted, conversation didn't exactly flow out of her, either, but she liked to think that she tried. Silence always made her fidget and in her condition, that wasn't a good thing.

They never did talk about that night he'd stayed in her room. It was something that seemed odd bringing up and Jack had a feeling that the conversation topic wasn't all that welcome. She remembered it, though, more often than she might have liked. It was a nice memory, one she would keep for as long as she would be able.

Elson patiently watched Jack wear herself out before finally guiding her back to her room. He seemed relieved to have her rest again.

"You worry too much."

He looked up. "Pardon?"

"I'm not that fragile." And it was true; Jack had survived more accidents than she cared to remember. Admittedly, none so bad as this, but she'd survived them and she liked to think that they made her just a little bit stronger for it. Still, boasting about all her various misadventures didn't seem like a good idea. At least, not all at once. "I'm not made of glass."

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I know you're not. But your injuries were extensive and I'd rather not take any chances."

She uttered a disbelieving sound.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Jack played with the edge of the duvet, turning his words over in her head. "Oh."

Later, Elson took pity on her restlessness and read her a book. It was a thick one without pictures but the story was good enough and she giggled softly whenever Elson adopted a higher pitch in the dialogues. He stopped about a fourth of the way through no matter how much Jack tried to wheedle another chapter out of him.

"I'll have to teach you to read sometime," he chuckled as he leaned back in his chair. His voice was slightly throaty from talking so much but Jack didn't mind it. "You're a rather voracious audience."

"I know how to read some letters," Jack announced before blushing. Recognizing some letters and signs did not equate to reading a book, she knew that very well.

But Elson grinned at her and she felt her insides warm. "Wonderful. We'll start from there, then."

Jack beamed.

* * *

Elson watched his little charge heal at an amazing pace. What would normally take others months of bed rest only cost her a few days – a week or two, at the most. He thought he'd have more time, but at this rate…

"You will visit me," he said suddenly and Jack looked up from the picture book he'd handed to her. The statement hung awkwardly in between insistence and a plea. "You wouldn't be so heartless as to forget little old me – would you?"

Jack flinched, recoiling as if he'd burned her. "Of course not! I – I'll never forget this. And I'll visit – for as long as you'll have me," she added quickly.

He smiled slightly, reaching out to cover her hand with his. "You will always be welcome here, Jack."

Elson continued to smile as Jack slowly, slowly began to gain back her strength. He smiled as she read him simple sentences and he smiled when she skipped down his halls, singing one song or another as she cast her wooden staff dangerously about in a way that made him glad he never bothered decorating the walls.

It was a marvelous thing. Every surface Jack touched bloomed in a beautiful fernlike pattern. The design grew on its own, as if it were alive, and there were times Elson could only stop and admire it.

"It's the only thing I can do," Jack confessed one early morning as she sat on the windowsill like a very pretty bird.

"I don't see what you mean."

"I mean…" She paused. "I mean that I don't do much of anything else. I just spread frost." She shrugged, touching the design with the tips of her fingers. The ice granules immediately gave way whenever Elson so much as brushed by it but it stayed fast under Jack's fingers. Her magic sang a different tune than his – it was a pure single-voiced melody that echoed through the corridors. His magic, instead, layered on each other and, after so many years, sounded much more like a symphony. It coated the castle and the lands, protected them against unwanted intruders.

Odd, how it had failed to keep Jack out. Their magic, instead of clashing, instead of forcing each other down or away, melded together in a sweet duet. Perhaps it was because they were actually getting along.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly. "Our season is a harsh one. Perhaps you are here to make it … better."

"Thanks," she murmured hesitantly. "Although … no offense, but I really hope I'm meant for something more than prettifying winter."

"Indeed." He chuckled, tugging her down from where she perched precariously. "Now get down from there."

She pushed herself off the windowsill and they walked down the hall together. There was a bounce in Jack's steps as she walked beside him, a lightheartedness, an innocence, a naivety that Elson had never possessed. Or maybe he had and simply couldn't remember anymore.

"I see you've taken some liberties with my library again," he said with a twinkle in his eye as he spied a small novel in Jack's pocket.

She blushed slightly, taking the book out with an almost guilty smile. "I just can't help it – I've never seen so many books in one place before!"

It was true that Elson had built up quite the collection. It had taken some decades to satisfactorily fill the library up but then, that was the entire point. His chest had swelled somewhat on the day that he'd guided Jack to the library for the first time. Her awe, the utter shock in her eyes, had been flattering and he might have taken a bit too long explaining how extensive his collection was.

"As long as you care for them," he murmured. Idly, he wondered if he should help Jack balance – even though she was almost well, she still retained a limp in her left leg. Despite his best efforts, he had no idea whether it would ever disappear but they hoped for the best.

"You haven't flown yet," he noted. Not that he was complaining about it.

"No…"

"I think you can now."

She nodded slowly, tucking the book back into her pocket. "Maybe."

He stopped then, and Jack followed suit. They faced each other in the empty corridor, Elson's mouth going dry the longer he looked at her.

"Jack."

"Yes?"

Ah, now … how to say this… "There's something I've been meaning to tell you. You don't – you don't have to leave." At her blank look, Elson rephrased: "You can stay. I want you to stay."

For a long while, there was only silence. Even when Jack opened her mouth, no sound escaped her and after a few seconds, she closed it again.

"You don't have to give me an answer right away," Elson said hastily, "and it's fine, even if you don't stay. I just wanted you to know that you – could. If you liked. I meant it, when I told you that you were welcome here."

"I – oh. Alright. I'll … I'll think about that."

They walked out, into the courtyard and they sat on a bench. The weather was all clear today with the snow piling several feet high but Elson had managed to keep the surrounding area relatively clear.

"I've actually," Jack said suddenly, "I actually want to ask you something, too." She waited until he glanced down at her before saying, "I've heard some ... stories about you before. Not very nice ones. Are ... are they true?"

Elson's heart clenched. "What have you heard about me?"

Glancing at him every so often, she said, "You were … born with your powers and you lost your family and kingdom because of it – didn't you?"

He closed his eyes, dread rising in his chest. "Yes. Continue."

"You tried to … get them back but nothing ever worked and sometimes, people would come and challenge you. And you would … you would…"

"I would kill them."

.

Jack stared at Elson, frozen. Her lungs refused to take in air and she choked on her own tongue.

"Yes, I admit it. I've killed people." He smiled bitterly at her, his eyes cold and distant. Jack closed her eyes, feeling slightly ill. What had she expected? Anger? Denial? Tears? Should she be glad that he wasn't even bothering to lie to her?

Elson stared down at his hands, his voice hollow as he continued. "They were usurpers, coming to take my life and claim my crown. Princes from nearby kingdoms, soldiers, mercenaries…"

"You were a king."

"Only for a day," he scoffed.

"Oh." It was strange, picturing Elson as a young boy running around inside a castle with ice magic at his fingertips. What would he have been like at that age? "What happened?"

For a long while, he was silent. Jack fidgeted, dearly wishing she could snatch the words back and hide them away. What a personal thing to ask!

Then:

"There was a – a terrible incident," Elson said, his voice hollow. "I'm sure you already know this, but … ice magic does nothing for life. It was only an accident but I … my brother…"

Guilt welled up within Jack and she put a hand on his shoulder. "Y-you don't have to tell me if you don't–!"

"I killed him."

Silence.

"I …" Jack whispered, her eyes stinging. "I'm so sorry."

"My parents tried to save him but I'd hit his heart and – there was never any hope." Elson stared into the distance without seeing anything, his entire form hunched over and suddenly looking incredibly weary. "Things were … _different_ after that. I was confined within the castle where, for over a decade, I struggled to master myself. My parents disappeared within that time; they'd set out for a celebration in a neighboring kingdom despite the stormy weather and never returned. Their deaths were made official when some of the debris from their ship washed up on the shore some weeks later."

"Elson..."

"I was crowned two years later but on the night of the coronation, things went wrong – somehow. I'm still not so sure what happened that evening. But I was outed and I - I ran. I built up a home of my own here..." He sighed tiredly, running a hand through his hair. "I was well into my forties before I realized that I hadn't aged a day."

Jack let out a shuddering breath. "That's ... that's terrible."

"It was. Is there anything else you would like to know?"

Her face flushed at Elson's question. She'd been asking him such personal questions, she realized she was lucky he had given her an answer.

She started when he picked up her hand, holding it as gently as he did on that night in her bedroom.

"What," he said, his eyes avoiding looking at her, "will you do now?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Now that you know all this, what will you decide? Will you stay with a murderer, Jack?" The corners of his lips twisted upwards cynically and his voice was bitter and … sad.

"I don't know," she whispered. "I-I need to think about it – about everything."

He nodded, letting her hand down as he stood. "Of course. I understand."

"I – _wait_!" she called, shooting up from the bench as he turned away. She grabbed the cuff of her sleeve, saying, "I'm not sure if I'll stay but – but this doesn't mean that we're not friends anymore. What happened back then, they – well, they matter but we're alright. We…" She stopped, taking in a deep breath. "We're alright."

He looked at her and she tried to meet his eyes readily like the way he looked at her sometimes. Finally, he smiled, reaching out to ruffle her hair. "I see."

Jack smiled tentatively back at him.

.

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* * *

 **Author's Note** : I have no idea where I'm going with this; the original plot has sadly fallen apart leaving behind only their backstories and what I've already published to guide me to the end.

A warm thanks to all the support you guys have given! They really keep me going whenever I get stuck on something.


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